Location: Barcelona, Spain
Summary: Waking up in hospital after the Montserrat ordeal, dealing with pain, boredom and difficult ward‑mates, followed by a reflection on how this trip changed my life forever due to necrotising fasciitis, sepsis, and the loss of my mum.
Barcelona University Hospital
This was not where I expected to be waking up in Barcelona. My leg was giving me a lot of pain, and they were treating it for an insect bite after last night’s Doppler scan showed no thrombosis and the x‑ray showed no breaks.
The hospital was dull, apart from the cute nurses who seemed to enjoy talking to me to practise their English. Paul arrived around lunchtime after going on a Segway tour up the beach. Thankfully, he brought bottled water, Spanish hospitals don’t provide any, and you’re expected to buy it from a machine in the corridor.
While Paul went to get me another bottle, I was moved to a different room. I now had to share with an elderly Spanish man who liked loud game shows and who wiped bits of excrement and blood on the curtain between us. His wife spent most of the day arguing with him and using the loo in the room. They were loud, rude to staff, and extremely annoying. Moments like this make me wish I’d learned to swear properly in Spanish.
There wasn’t much to do. I was bored, uncomfortable, and worrying about my mum.
Holiday Summary
I had quite a good time on this holiday before ending up in hospital. But the trip changed my life forever. While I was in hospital in Barcelona, my mum died in England, and I only just came out the other side of it alive myself.
Hospital Summary
After tests, I was diagnosed with necrotising fasciitis in my right leg, a severe, fast‑spreading infection that destroys soft tissue. To save my leg and my life, the infected flesh had to be cut away. I had around fourteen operations to remove it completely.
While in hospital, I was also diagnosed with sepsis, a life‑threatening condition where the body’s response to infection damages its own organs. I was treated with strong medication and kept in intensive care to stop my organs from failing. I don’t remember much, but I’m told I ballooned up and looked like the old Michelin Man from the adverts.
After the infected tissue was removed, my insurance company airlifted me back to the UK for skin grafts at the Queen Alexandra Hospital in Cosham. After the operation, I was helped to walk again and had daily therapy for weeks before I was allowed home.
Once home, district nurses visited daily to change the dressings on my leg. With help from friends, I managed to cope. My mum’s death while I was in hospital was far harder to deal with, and I still miss her deeply.
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